Graf #2 Worst Teacher

This is one of those subjects that just jumps out at me. I have always gotten along with my teachers whether I excelled or not in his or her class. But and its a big but, my sophomore year chemistry teacher was one hell of a piece of work. We will call her Mrs. Makeup because as the name infers, her face looked like a train wreck. She had worked for a couple of years as a math teacher in the next town over from what I was told she was kicked out of there for incompetence and general disgust from the public. So my high school decided to pick her up for reasons unknown probably desperation. Mrs. Makeup and I clashed from the beginning. It didn't Help that a small amount of attention deficit disorder made paying attention back then somewhat difficult. The thing was this woman armed with her overhead projector could single handedly put twenty energy drink, hormone, and anger filler teenagers to sleep. I was the twenty first student who didn't sleep but chose to whisper and keep my fellow mouths awake. She didn't have a clue about science but and uncanny eye for my lips moving. One day out of the blue she decided to flip out on Mr. Nathan in the front and use him as an example. I Was booted to the hallway and told to report to the dark and dreaded principles office. Of course I had put up with this evil woman for too long as it was so on my way out I had to mutter the giant B word. Well if that wasn't bad enough, in all her wickedness she told everyone including the administrator that I preceded the curse with a worse adjective that begins with a capitol F. Now I am telling you right now.... I may have thought it but that word never came out of my lips. To make a long story short, my mother had to come in for a sit down with Mrs. Makeup dragon face. I ended up with an in school suspension which I probably deserved but for once in my entire life my mother agreed with me... that teacher was a beeyatch.

Graf #1 Hands

I know the name of this assignment is hands assignment but I believe in my case I will stick to just one of them. I think focusing on my right extremity will provide plenty of entertainment. I guess I will start with my pinky finger since it is so often overlooked and probably feels in last place the rest of the time. The poor little guy sports a jagged old scar beginning at its nail and wrapping around almost to the other side. This wound came from a hasty ascension up the stairs at my best friends mothers townhouse. I can't say now what was in the glass but as I neared the top of the stairs I tripped over one of the very last steps. Of course my friends mother had a touch of obsessive compulsive disorder but still had a dwelling covered with very light almost white carpeting. I never would have thought that small and forgotten finger could have become a Mount Rushmore of bright red color. Lets say she was less than impressed.
Traveling down the pinky and on to the round fleshy part of my right palm one will find a nice thick scar. I remember receiving this present when I was 18 and working at an electrical supply company down in Brunswick, Maine. My job there as a delivery boy also included lots of warehouse work around these big steel beamed racks. The first level of racks was about five feet of the concrete. It was close enough to climb up in even though it wasn't the best idea. Well, me in a brave and stupid moment decided to skip the fork lift and move some product around by hand. Everything went as planned until the time came to jump back down. As I planted my hand on the outside beam a jagged piece of metal ripped into my palm. Of course i was already in the downward motion of jumping off and very deep long cut was produced. My boss being the compassionate teddy bear that he was grabbed my hand and pulled the cut wide open to expose some of the meaty flesh inside my hand. “ yep, probably need some stitches,” he said calmly as I tried not retaliate on his pudgy face. Thanks for the advice Bob.
Well if your still reading this I'll finish up the road map of my hand with the pointer finger. This bad boy is pretty beat up. I guess i am lucky to have a scar and not a empty void. To make a long story short i took some major shrapnel while fighting in Iraq. I lost most of my right hip but kept my leg and everything else. I received small fragments all over the right side of my body but most without scarring. Except for a pretty good chunk which landed in the index finger. It was pretty terrible but most people that get close and personal with a rocket propelled grenade are not as lucky.